‘You have tea at four or five, I suppose. Let us go after that, when the heat of the day is over.’
To this, after various objections, Nancy consented. Through the hours of glaring sunshine she stayed at home, lying inert, by an open window. Over the tea-cups she was amiable, but dreamy. When ready to go out, she just looked into the sitting-room, where Jessica bent over books, and said cheerfully:
‘I may be a little late for dinner. On no account wait—I forbid it!’
And so, without listening to the answer, she hurried away.
In the upward climbing lanes, no breeze yet tempered the still air; the sky of misted sapphire showed not a cloud from verge to verge. Tarrant, as if to make up for his companion’s silence, talked ceaselessly, and always in light vein. Sunshine, he said, was indispensable to his life; he never passed the winter in London; if he were the poorest of mortals, he would, at all events, beg his bread in a sunny clime.
‘Are you going to the Bahamas this winter?’ Nancy asked, mentioning the matter for the first time since she heard of it at Champion Hill.
‘I don’t know. Everything is uncertain.’
And he put the question aside as if it were of no importance.
They passed the old gate, and breathed with relief in the never-broken shadow of tangled foliage. Whilst pushing a bramble aside, Tarrant let his free arm fall lightly on Nancy’s waist. At once she sprang forward, but without appearing to notice what had happened.
‘Stay—did you ever see such ivy as this?’